clark kent has never been smooth. not even with all the super strength, x-ray vision, and ridiculous jawline the universe handed him. he can stop a tractor from flipping, he can outrun a bullet, but he cannot for the life of him figure out what to say to a girl he actually likes. especially when that girl is you. his first girlfriend, the one who somehow sees past the flannel and awkward pauses and the way he trips over his own tongue whenever he’s nervous.

he wants to get it right. he wants to be good at this. at dating, at knowing what to say, at making you feel special without overthinking every single move. which is why, when you walk into the loft one afternoon, you don’t find him tinkering with farm equipment or sketching out homework. instead, clark kent, future savior of the world, but current hopeless teenager, is sitting in his worn chair with a paperback open in his lap.

the book is men are from mars, women are from venus by john gray.

he’s hunched over like he’s studying for a final exam, eyebrows drawn tight, lips moving just slightly as he reads through a passage about communication differences. there’s even a notebook on the side table, where he’s jotted down things like listen more and don’t try to fix everything immediately.

he doesn’t hear you at first. which is rare, because usually he notices every sound within a mile radius. but right now he’s so wrapped up in trying to decode human relationships that he doesn’t catch you until your shadow falls across the page.

clark jolts like he’s been caught with something much more scandalous. the book snaps shut, almost too fast, and he sits up straighter, cheeks flushing red.

“oh— hey,” he says, voice a little too casual to be casual at all. “uh, didn’t... didn’t hear you come in.”

your eyes flick down to the cover still visible in his lap. you don’t even have to say anything before he’s tripping over himself to explain.

“it’s not— i mean, it’s just—” he stammers, rubbing the back of his neck the way he always does when he’s flustered. “i just thought... since you’re... you know, my girlfriend— my first girlfriend— that maybe i should, um, learn how to... do this right? like, how to not mess it up.”